Help Nikole raise money

I missed the signs.

It’s a phrase that loops in my mind, a whisper of guilt and self-reproach that never fully fades. I am an educator, a perceived expert in teaching and learning, designing models that inspire curiosity and joy, reimagining the structures of traditional schooling. And yet, in the midst of all of that work—of parenting and teaching—I did not see what I should have seen in my own two children.

In adolescence, both of my kids were diagnosed with autism. And when I looked back, it was all there. The signs had always been there. But at the time, it just felt like parenting. Meeting needs, making accommodations, adapting to quirks, and ensuring my kids had what they needed to be comfortable in a world that often isn’t built for comfort.

You don’t like zippers or buttons? No problem—there are dresses and leggings that work just as well.

You find deep focus in cars? Fantastic—let’s go even deeper into this topic, collect, categorize, analyze.

You struggle with showing empathy? We can practice. We’ll create a gratitude jar, fill it with moments of appreciation, and build from there.

You don’t like the texture of [insert anything here]? No worries—there’s always an alternative.

You need hard touch to feel calm? I’ve got weighted blankets, and I’ve got a series of hugs that will make you feel safe.

I thought I was just making thoughtful parenting moves, not masking a diagnosis. I compensated, adapted, and problem-solved with love. And for a while, it worked.

Then, the teen years arrived. Hormones shifted, emotions surged, and the compensations I had built so carefully could no longer hold back the tide. What had once been manageable suddenly wasn’t. Struggles deepened, darkened, and became higher stakes. Safety, depression, impulse control, stimming, and social regulation weren’t just challenges anymore—they were critical. And I realized that I hadn’t prepared them for a world that wouldn’t automatically compensate the way I had.

The guilt is heavy. I wonder what would have been different if I had known sooner, if I had sought answers instead of assuming that every challenge just needed a workaround. But I also remind myself: I was parenting with love, even if I didn’t have the language for what was happening.

Now, I am learning again. Learning from them, with them, about them. And maybe that is the lesson in all of this—there is no perfect way to parent, no expert who knows everything, no one who can see every sign. There is only the choice to keep learning, to keep showing up, and to love in ways that evolve as our children do.

This is why I chose to focus on OAR as my fundraising entity. They had me at "rather than fund research on what causes autism, we fund studies on topics of more everyday relevance such as education, parent and teacher training, communication, self-care, social skills, employment, behavior, and adult and community issues." Their work is about creating meaningful support systems for autistic individuals and their families, ensuring that knowledge is actionable and beneficial in daily life.

And maybe that is the real lesson: my parenting wasn't about compensating, it was (and is!) about recognizing and meeting the unique needs of the humans in my care. It’s about love, patience, and the willingness to see and embrace differences, rather than erase them. 

Consider supporting OAR and my old lady legs as I keep moving, keep running, keep trying on this journey.